The Accidental Voyeur

Recently I had the good fortune to holiday on an unimportant island in the Mediterranean. My hotel was in the nice old part of a nice old town, set in ornamental gardens. The clientele was predictable: leathery, hibernating pensioners and packagers desperate for a week of winter sun.

The climb from town was steep but rewarding: lush palms framing man-made waterfalls. Walking back in the rain one lunchtime, replete with cake and cafe con leche, I was gearing up for a dip in the hotel pool. At the top of the second set of steps I found a young gentleman of Spanish extraction sitting on a bench. He was clean and well-dressed. His pants were round his ankles. He looked me straight in the eye, tugging violently at his nob with both hands. Here was a picture of unflinching concentration.

I smiled and started up the next set of steps. Then it dawned on me: he had been wanking. What's more, I hadn't been at all shocked.

I began to deconstruct the event: had my arrival taken him by surprise, or had I been anticipated? Had I been a catalyst to onanism? Too late I remembered the Spanish for "very small" and began to play out alternative scenarios in which I snidely put him in his place. I had had sex thrust upon me, and I hadn't batted an eyelid.

That night a wind-storm of unexpected ferocity gathered over the island. The double doors and obligatory continental shutters leading from the bedroom to the balcony rattled and whistled respectively. Outside could be heard the creak and thud of damaged trees, and the thrashing of errant guttering and plastic garden furniture.

The wind triggers the fire alarm. There is shouting in the corridor. Bloke goes to investigate and is disappointed to find no emergency. It is 3am. After the panic of waking suddenly I find it difficult to go back to sleep, so I decide to venture out onto the balcony to have a look at the storm.

Standing there in my pyjamas I watch sheet lightning strike the Atlantic. I am about to go back inside, when I catch some movement on next-door's balcony. I squint at the darkness.

She is tanned and curvy, with long, wavy, blonde hair. He is stocky, with a dark crew cut. She is perched on the railings; he is entering her from below. They are naked.

I must be only ten feet away, but they don't appear to have noticed me. I consider introducing myself, exchanging pleasantries, just to see whether it would break their stride. I chicken out and go back inside, determined that Bloke should share my fun.

He pokes his head round the shutters, retreats, then has another peek. "It looks quite dangerous", he whispers.

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